


Questions

by The_Jashinist



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, I'm not kidding about the death thing, Implied Sexual Content, Jon and Scarecrow are not the same, Let me be weird, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Explicit Sex, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, References to Depression, Southern!Crane, implied past sexual abuse, oh yeah and who's ready for broken joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jashinist/pseuds/The_Jashinist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why don't we start at the beginning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Good Place to Start

It was a familiar feeling, but a foreboding one nonetheless, the realization of where Jonathan Crane found himself after waking up with a pounding headache, where exactly he was.

He was in a deathtrap.

Crane peeled his face off of the floor and got to his feet, rubbing his temples.

"Great," he muttered, "where the hell am i?"

"Dr. Crane," a screen flicked on in front of Crane, revealing a tall man in a gaudy green suit, "it's a pleasure to see you again."

Edward Nygma, the Riddler, just what Crane needed.

"I don't have time for this," Crane sighed and began looking around the room for an exit.

"Oh but you have to play the game to leave," Nygma smiled slyly.

A panel slid up from the floor in front of Crane, displaying a riddle in green text: "What question can you never answer yes to?"

"Oh I know you're smart Crane, this should be easy," Nygma hummed.

"Are you dead," Crane glared up at Nygma.

"Incorrect!" Nygma hummed, "The answer is-"

"Are you dead," Crane repeated, "you can't answer a question when you're dead."

"But that's not the answer to the riddle," Nygma insisted.

"I don't care it's correct," Crane shrugged, "let me go."

An array of emotions crossed Nygma's face: anger, confusion, annoyance, irritation, frustration, rage, intimidation, distress, fear, and finally fury.

"It's not the right answer!" Nygma yelled loudly. The panel disappeared into the ground with a whirr and a slam and the lighting in the room turned red. Crane glanced around and smirked as a door slid open and Nygma stepped out, red faced and furious. Crane snorted, he didn't look the least bit frightening.

"Then why don't you kill me?" Crane asked. Nygma held his cane up to Crane's throat.

"Who said I wasn't going to kill you?" he asked.

"I did," Crane grabbed Nygma's collar and headbutted him, knocking Nygma back and giving him time to make for the open door. Crane slid in and slammed the door shut. The cool green of the monitors lit the entire room, which reeked of Doritos and sweaty socks. Crane walked over to the monitors and pulled up the panel again, typing his own riddle into the box.

"What the hell is this riddle?" Nygma yelled.

"Jervis taught me it," Crane replied, grinning, "It's from Alice in Wonderland."

"How is a plank of wood anything like a highly intelligent bird?" Nygma barked.

"I suppose you'll need to figure that out for yourself," Crane smiled, "or you could let me leave."

"Go to hell," Nygma growled.

"Well then," Crane smiled, "I'm sure I can call Batman or something right? Let's see if he's on here…Oh look you've got him as a contact on Skype, fancy that!"

"You'll end up in jail too!"

"Not necessarily."

"But there's a chance."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take. I prefer Arkham over death."

Crane tilted his head to the side.

"Do we have a deal Mr. Nygma?"

Nygma had a look of apprehension on his face, then sighed.

"Deal, hit the green button on the left of the panel control."

Crane slammed his hand on the button and walked into the main room.

"Thank you," Crane bowed and walked for the open exit and into the night air, "where are we?"

"We're in outer Gotham," Nygma replied, stepping out beside him, "figured Bats would take longer if I dragged you all the way out here."

"Yeah, great," Crane snatched Nygma's bowler hat off his head, "why do you wear this anyway? Does it have any function or is it like Selina's ears?"

"It completes the look," Nygma snatched the hat back, "do you need a ride?"

"I like walking," Crane shrugged.

"Not in this part of town you don't," Nygma muttered, "this is Joker territory."

"Is that why your van's driving towards the docks," Crane gestured to a bright green van covered in question marks making a beeline for the docks.

"Oh Jesus nononononono!" Nygma ran his hands through his hair, "Oh crap! I just got on Joker's bad side last week!"

"Ooh, tough luck," Crane hummed, "Joker kind of likes me so, maybe you'll be safe with me. I live in Penguin's territory."

"You don't have your own," Nygma lowered his hands, "wait you have a permanent place of residence?" Crane nodded and gestured for Nygma to follow.

"I don't need much more than an apartment on a decent side of the city," Crane replied, "that allows pets."

"You have a pet?" Nygma asked.

"Three cats."

Nygma continued to stare at Crane.

"We could probably catch a bus as soon as we get into Penguin's territory," Crane hummed, "how deep are we into Joker's turf."

"Deep."

"Oh good, well, let's go."

Crane kept walking and just sort of hoped one of Joker's lackeys put a bullet in Nygma's head before they got out of his territory.

For some reason, he still had that sense of foreboding.

* * *

Nygma was a complete nervous wreck at this point. Joker's turf was long behind them, but after Crane was kicked off a bus, they were stuck walking through the theater district. Crane was pissed, and kept gesturing to Penguin's lackeys frantically, but stopped whenever he realized Nygma was watching. It was sort of adorable, in a way, and Crane didn't quite look like the intimidating Scarecrow everyone knew him as. He was a spindly, lanky framed man in, from what Nygma could tell, his early thirties, with scruffy brown hair and deep blue eyes.

"You need to stop following me," Crane turned to Nygma finally, "now."

"Well I have nowhere else to go," Nygma reasoned, "I don't have a house, I got evicted after my first heist."

"Mm," Crane rolled his eyes, "maybe you can sleep in a warehouse like most of Gotham's homeless rogues."

"That's not funny Crane."

"I know, I'm being serious."

Nygma sighed and kept following Crane until they arrived at a tall brick apartment.

"Well," Crane opened the building door, "goodnight."

"Wait!" Nygma yelled.

"What?" Crane turned around in confusion.

"Can I, um, stay the night?" Nygma fidgeted uncomfortably, "I don't like sleeping if I'm not in a bed."

"That's stupid," Crane said, "grow a pair."

Nygma flinched, then looked at his feet.

"Please don't say that," he murmured quietly.

"What?" Crane frowned.

"Don't say that," Nygma looked up at Crane, "please."

Crane was quiet for a few minutes, then opened the door wider.

"One night," he said loudly, "and only one. Got it?"

"Absolutely," Nigma nodded.


	2. But Perhaps not the Best Place

Crane woke to a loud scream echoing through his house, loud enough that he bolted into a sitting position. From the other bedroom there was the soft sound of muffled sobbing. Crane was slightly confused, until he remembered that Nygma was spending the night.

The door burst open, Joker, half-dressed and wide-eyed, was standing in the doorway with a look of total bewilderment on his face.

"Who just screamed?" he asked, "I swear I didn't do anything!"

"I know," Crane rolled out of bed, "go back to sleep Joker."

"Who's in your guest room?" Joker asked, "No one sleeps in there."

"Nygma."

"You're letting him stay in your house?"

"Look if he wasn't a total wimp I wouldn't be."

"Don't call him that," Joker commented, "I mean I'm an asshole, but there are some things you just don't call people."

"Clarify," Crane hummed, fumbling around for his glasses.

"Imagine someone calling you a twig."

Crane whirled around.

"I'd kill them."

"Yeah but Edward's not like you," Joker leaned on the doorframe, "you don't take shit from anyone; you killed your abuser for the shit she put you through. That's not Nygma. He ran from his troubles, in a lot of ways, I think he's still running."

"When did you learn empathy?"

"I didn't I just get how all of you think."

"I'm terrified by that notion."

"Great," Joker stepped aside, "talk to him."

"Or what?"

"Or I tear your ears off and make earrings out of them."

Crane shoved past Joker and put his glasses on before opening the door to the guest room. Nygma immediately looked up and began rubbing his eyes dry.

"What?" he asked in a shaking voice.

"The fact that Joker had to explain why you had such an issue with the way I've been talking _is_ a serious issue," Crane walked in and sat down on the bed, "What happened?"

"You can't help with this," Nygma shook his head.

"I'm a trained psychiatrist so I'll try my luck," Crane shrugged, "plus I also dealt with abuse as a kid."

"What?" Nygma frowned, "But you, you don't let anyone push you around! Joker has to threaten you to get you to do anything."

"Yeah," Crane nodded, "I killed my abuser when I was like, eighteen," Nygma buried his face in his knees, "but that doesn't mean I've never known what it means to fear them, and it doesn't mean I don't still respond to people insulting me like they did."

"What do you care?" Nygma growled.

"I don't, if you want me to be totally honest," Crane admitted, "but that doesn't mean I enjoy hearing someone wake up screaming and-do you like cats?"

"What? Nygma lifted his head.

"Do you like cats?" Crane repeated.

"Um, yes?" Nygma nodded slowly.

"Okay hold on," Crane stood and walked out of the room, returning after a few seconds with a small ball of light brown fluff, "this is Dullahan."

"Dullahan," Nygma repeated as the kitten was dumped on the bed and immediately began climbing Nygma's legs, "you named a tiny kitten after a powerful Irish faerie."

"Yep," Crane nodded, sitting back down, "he's the devil, that's why."

"And how is a demonic cat supposed to cheer me up?"

"I couldn't find the fat one, and this one was knocking plates off the table."

Dullahan took this opportunity to let out a small, feeble, and ineffectual meow, which really sounded like a very quiet screech. Nygma stared at the cat for a few minutes before breaking into hysterics.

"See I knew I could get you to laugh," Crane smirked.

"What kind of noise is that?" Nygma gasped.

"I dunno but he makes it a lot," Crane shrugged, "maybe smaller things have higher pitched voices or something."

"Is that a fact?" Nygma raised an eyebrow, a devilish grin on his face.

"Um," Crane shifted slightly, "I mean I don't know really I never was much good with how sound wor-"

Crane was cut off as Nygma reached forward and jabbed Crane's side. Crane let out a loud shriek and contracted.

"What the fuck was that for?"

"I was testing your hypothesis."

"By tasing me?"

"How else do I make you scream? You literally don't fear anything."

"I can think of a few things," Joker yelled from the other room.

"I'd rather eat an adder thanks!" Crane retorted loudly.

"Sure you would."

"Go to hell clown!"

"I mean my reputation's already there, what've I got to lose?"

"I probably shouldn't ask but why is Joker in your house?" Nygma asked, staring at the door.

"He's probably having a fight with Harley," Crane shrugged, "he's completely incapable of functioning as an adult so he usually just singles me out because I won't try to kill him for breaking in."

"That is not true!" Joker yelled, "I don't need that bitch!"

"You need her and you know it you half-baked circus attraction!" Crane shouted, "You can't even cook!"

"Well neither can I," Nygma noted.

"Can you please not interrupt?" Crane requested, "I'm winning this argument; payback for being a little shit."

"What did I do?"

"You know what you did!"

"You _are_ loud."

"Joker I swear to god I will throw you out the fucking window."

"I'm shutting up now."

There was a long stretch of silence before Nygma spoke up.

"So how does Joker know that?" he asked.

"Actually that's a very interesting story," Joker began, opening the door.

"Oh my god can you not tell him that story!" Crane stood up and began shoving Joker out the door.

"But he wants to know!" Joker protested.

"He doesn't need to know _that_ story!" Crane yelled.

"But he wants to!" Joker yelled.

"Out!" Crane slammed the door shut.

"Great friend you've got there," Nygma commented.

"I don't have friends," Crane retorted, "I have acquaintances and annoyances."

"Which one am I?" Nygma asked.

"You kidnapped me then threw a tantrum when I outsmarted you," Crane turned and leaned on the door, "also you're crashing at my place after whining for several minutes, woke the entire apartment at," Crane checked the nearest clock, "two in the morning, I was actually sleeping for once in my life, take a wild guess."

"Actually sleeping?" Nygma snorted, "You don't strike me as an insomniac."

"You don't strike me as the type to kidnap murderers but that happened," Crane reasoned.

"Do you just speak in snark?"

"Yep, it's easier than being open about my emotions."

"Oh okay that explains a lot."

Crane frowned and narrowed his eyes.

"When did this turn into you analyzing my personality?"

"When I got curious," Nygma smiled, "you're interesting, what can I say? A genius with a bad attitude and an obsession with human fear. It's an interesting person to watch," Nymga lifted Dullahan, "it's as if this cat were a human."

"When can I hit you?" Crane asked.

Dullahan mewled and wriggled in Nygma's grip.

"Put him down," Crane sighed, "he hates being picked up."

Nygma lowered Dullahan slowly, glaring at Crane as he did.

"For someone who considers me an annoyance, you're oddly polite."

"I'm not polite I just don't need to be bandaging you after that cat mauls you. You'd be surprised how sharp his claws are."

"Oh look, another similarity with his owner, it must be fate!"

"I'm going to hit you."

Nygma sighed and watched Dullahan viciously attack his foot as if it were some evil being that needed to be destroyed.

"Am I really that annoying?" he asked after a long stretch of silence.

"I mean," Crane shrugged, "I've known more annoying people, but yes, you're pretty annoying. Why? It's not like that's an issue."

"It's a bit of an issue," Nygma raised his voice, "I don't want to be annoying, that's not what I want to be known for. I'm fine with irritating victims but I would rather be known for my intelligence than how annoying I am."

"Then maybe riddles weren't your best choice."

"I can't help it!"

Crane paused and narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"I can't help but use riddles," Nygma explained slowly, "it's the only thing I can remember liking about my childhood."

"At least you have happy memories," Crane sat back down on the bed, "however small they might be."

"You're an oddball," Nygma smiled slightly.

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black," Crane smirked, "go back to sleep, and beat it in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before you ask, no this is not based on New52 because I utterly despise that shit, and yes, Joker may or may not be 110% totally ooc in most of his appearances and unfortunately he shows up a lot. The way I'm trying to play it is closer to an actual psychopath, like as if the giggling madman usually seen causing chaos is a facet of Joker's personality that he restrains when he's not in public. There's always going to be the edge and in later chapters I'm giving him a bit of a more charming attitude and definitely a tendency towards boredom and...lapses in common sense, we'll call them (a polite way of saying he can be really fucking stupid sometimes).  
> And I know I said I'd update weekly but evidently, that did not happen. I may have gotten distracted actually writing the damn thing because I'm eight chapters into this.  
> See y'all next chapter, and of course, follow, favorite, leave a review, question my choice to make Crane okay with Joker sleeping on his couch, continue to ask how Joker knows that implication...I'm not answering them, by the way.  
> Kay bye,  
> The Jashinist (is an Asshole)


	3. But Certainly not the Worst

Nygma and Joker were both gone in the morning, making the entire house eerily quiet, save for Wisp and Banshee making a racket in the kitchen because they were hungry. Crane spent most of the morning reading and moving Dullahan away from his coffee mug. That is until a thud sounded at his door.

Not many people arrived at Crane's early in the day. Not that they didn't show up, but it was more often the case that they'd show up in the middle of the night, drunk or sober, and panicking because Batman was on their tail. Crane had spent his fair share of nights in holding because someone had decided to lead the Bat straight to Crane's doorstep and once had let it slip that Crane let other Rogues stay the night. He'd spent at least six with a drunk Joker sleeping on his lap until someone, usually Harley or Selina, came to post bail, and by that point Crane smelled as much like cheap booze as Joker did.

"Let me in!" Nygma's voice travelled into the room, "Please I have a psychopath following me!"

"If you're talking about Batman, forget it," Crane retorted, "I'm not spending the night in holding because of you."

"No I mean Two Face is following me!"

Crane threw open the door, yanked Nygma in, then slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Are you insane?" Crane almost yelled, "Two Face _hates_ me, like, wants to kill me hates me. In what _world_ would you think that leading him here was a good idea? At all?"

"I didn't know where else to go!" Nygma yelled, "I figured he wasn't gonna follow me all the way to your door!"

"Of course he will!" Crane hissed, shoving Nygma away from the door, "He doesn't give up! He's Two Face! And keep your voice down! He's not deaf!"

"Where is that circus freak?" a gravelly voice snapped just outside Crane's door. Crane turned to Nygma and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"You make a single sound I will break your neck," Crane hissed and waited for the footsteps to recede down the hall and up the stairs before pulling Nygma into the living room and shoving him onto the couch.

"I have half a mind to kill you now," Crane snapped, "save Two Face the trouble."

"You wouldn't," Nygma leaned back.

"Oh don't tempt me," Crane laughed, "you push my buttons; I push you into a vat of acid."

"You don't have a vat of acid," Nygma reasoned.

"Yes but I have a tank of fear gas in my room with a mask attached to it," Crane gestured to his room, "If I wanted to kill you, I'd have a method."

"That's concerning."

"Not really," Crane sat down next to Nygma, "you should've seen Joker's face when I told him that though."

"Well I'm not sure fear gas is a good death threat though," Nygma frowned.

"If you breathe it for too long you'll die," Crane replied, "either you'll suffer an overdose of cortisol and go into cardiac arrest, or you'll suffocate."

"I worry about your sanity," Nygma commented.

" _My_ sanity?" Crane smirked, "What about yours?"

"Excuse you I am perfectly sane," Nygma raised his eyebrows.

"Name the last time you didn't use a riddle in a crime."

"Name the last time you didn't use fear gas."

"August 18th, I used a chemical that completely removes fear, then filled an entire building with it."

"Oh yeah, _that_."

"What about you? Have you ever not used a riddle?"

Nygma shifted uncomfortably, muttering riddles to himself.

"Got anything?" Crane smirked.

"No," Nygma muttered.

"I rest my case," Crane crossed his arms.

Nygma grumbled and slumped down in defeat, looking a little more like a toddler and less like a dignified mastermind. He was neither as far as Crane was concerned, but at least he usually made a concerted effort to seem like a dignified mastermind.

"If it helps at all," Crane shrugged, "being among the Rogues Gallery is a concerning notion for one's sanity as it stands."

"That doesn't help," Nygma muttered, "that means as far as you're concerned, I'm as sane as Joker."

"That is an entirely different can of worms," Crane shrugged, "that I don't even think are worms, they might be beetles."

"Was that an analogy or a joke?"

Crane paused, "Possibly both, did it help?"

"Um," Nygma slid away from Crane slightly, "it concerns me a little that you let him in here."

"He actually doesn't have a key, only three other Rogues have keys."

"Three?"

"Selina feeds my cats when I'm in Arkham, Jervis is a…friend, and Ivy doesn't irritate me nearly as much as the others so I gave her a key. I think I gave Bane a key at some point, but eh, he never uses it."

"And I didn't know about this until last night."

"Yeah well I trust those four; I don't trust you."

"You trust a kleptomaniac and a misandrist?"

"They know better, unlike a certain clown who got shoved out the window last month."

"I don't wanna know."

"Joker and I have a lot of stories you just don't wanna know."

"Well," Nygma got to his feet, "think Two Face is out of the building?"

"Hang on," Crane glanced out the nearest window and noticed a man, who was obviously Two Face, get in a car and leave, "You're good, he probably figured it wasn't worth the time and effort. He'll never stop trying to kill you though, avoid dark alleys on off days."

"Thanks for the advice," Nygma walked out the door.

"Oh yeah," Crane added, "Get me to trust you and you've got a permanent place to crash."

"I'll keep that in mind," Nygma nodded, and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day? I truly must be spoiling you.  
> For the record, no, I'm not a huge fan of Two-Face, I like him well enough though so he will show up.  
> See you next chapter, I don't have much to say.


	4. Plenty of Beginnings

It had been an eventful month, but Nygma was the most eventful part of it.  Crane always hated eventful months, and Nygma had made some sort of decision that made Crane annoyed.  That is, Nygma had found his phone number, and was now calling Crane, a lot.  Selina, who somehow got along with Nygma, explained that Nygma tended to…annoy the people he respected.  Crane wasn’t sure how he gained Nygma’s respect in the span of two days, or if that was even possible, but he was getting really sick of hitting the ignore button on his cell.

Especially after being told that Nygma wouldn’t let up until Crane answered his phone, or even after Crane finally did answer.  In fact, Crane tried answering, to get Nygma to leave him alone, several times, but Nygma didn’t stop.  It usually had to do with Nygma giving Crane any manner of riddles that pop into his head, suggesting Gotham museum exhibits he thought Crane might like, and asking really stupid and pointless questions, like what Crane’s favorite food was.  One particular moment Crane recalled distinctly was getting a call asking if Crane wanted anything from Starbucks, and then having Nygma and Selina show up at his door, with Starbucks.  Crane had to admit it was a pretty nice gesture for a “respectful” gesture.

“Do you even have anything to talk about or are you just calling me because you want talk to me?” Crane snapped after answering about a month after these calls started.

“Um,” Nygma sounded like he was in the middle of something, “glad you answered actually, could you head over to the warehouse on 22nd Street?  I’ve got an issue with this one person, they’re way too good at this riddle business.”

“Okay I’ll be there in like ten minutes,” Crane sighed, “I don’t know how I’ll help but I’ll try.”

Crane hung up and let out a loud sigh, rubbing his temples.  He did not need this today.

But nevertheless, he headed over to the warehouse Nygma was talking about and was nearly clocked in the face upon entrance.  The attacker seemed to be a small teenager with a long, whiplike ginger ponytail and an irritated look on her face.

“Not that one,” Nygma commented, “though I can’t go into that room to let them out, she keeps trying to headbutt me.”

“Say goodbye to your kneecaps asshole!” the teenager yelled.

“Just move out of her way and let them leave,” Nygma sighed, “I figure if the ginger has enough gall to try and headbutt two mass murderers, she’s probably pretty hard to rattle.”

“And the other two?” Crane leaned around the ginger blocking his way in, ignoring her as she tried to climb over him and get out.  There were two other teenagers, roughly the same height, possibly shorter, were standing in front of a panel that had risen from the ground, staring at Crane in confusion.

“Oh well one’s amazing at solving riddles,” Nygma complied, “the other has your method of solving riddles.”

“So she give you a right answer but it’s not the answer to the riddle?” Crane smirked, “ooh just my style.”

“Shut up Crane.”

“Get out of the way you fucking noodle!” the ginger screamed loudly.

“So you called me to let them go?” Crane shoved the ginger off.

“Yep,” Nygma confirmed, “I don’t see any point in killing them if they’re smart enough to solve my riddles.”

“You are so weird,” Crane stepped aside, letting the ginger dart past him.  Once she was out the door, the ginger stopped and whirled around then promptly kicked Crane in the shins.

“Control your husband!” she yelled, then ran off.

“Friendly,” Crane frowned.

“Don’t worry,” the shortest one smiled as the third member of the group, bearing a shit-eating grin, walked past Crane, “she’s just a little...fiery.”

Crane heard a soft thwack, followed by a thud and a noise of surprise, behind him.

“LUNA!” the ginger screamed.

“I’m assuming from your friend’s….angry reaction, that that was a pun,” Crane pointed to the short one, who he assumed was named Luna.

“Puns are my specialty,” Luna put her hands on her hips.

“This is not the time,” the third member of the group commented from the ground, “this is not the time for puns.”

“Why?  It’s not like anyone here’s _dying_ from it,” Luna raised her eyebrows and smiling.

“Says the person who led us into a deathtrap,” the ginger noted.

“And also got us out of the deathtrap,” the third commented.

“Yes your obsession with riddles and puns has finally paid off,” the ginger rolled her eyes, “congrats, you thwarted a man-child.  Let’s go, before the noodle decides letting us live is not a good plan.”

“I already don’t think it’s a good plan,” Crane commented, “but I don’t kill people on purpose like Nygma.”

“Uh-huh,” the ginger nodded, helping the third girl to her feet, “sure.  Come on Luna.”  Luna nodded and followed the other two as they walked away.

“You,” Crane turned to the inside of the deathtrap, “is that the same deathtrap you used on me?”

“Um,” Nygma stepped out of his control room, “roughly?  Yeah.”

“Oh good you recycle them,” Crane crossed his arms.

“Only when people can solve the riddles,” Nygma shrugged, “I hadn’t intended for three people to get in.  I don’t like aggressive players, they don’t play along.”

“I liked her,” Crane smirked, “she was cute.”

“Don’t call girls cute when they’re angry,” Nygma shook his head.

“I didn’t say she was cute when she was angry,” Crane reasoned, “I said she was cute, in general.  Really if she weren’t angry, she’d probably be plenty cuter.  Also, I don’t think she was angry, she was too controlled; she was probably just irritated.  I would be too.”

“I liked those puns.”

“They were poorly placed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a dork.”

“So are you.”

“Am not.”

“Are we really going into this territory?”

“…Yes.”

“Wow, and you’re denying your status as a dork?”

“Because that’s not being a dork, it’s being immature.  I can be immature I can function as an adult.”

“You look like a college student, like the kind with no friends that hangs out in cafes.”

“That’s close to a correct summary.”

“What do you mean close?”

“I had friends.”

“Had?”

“Crane doesn’t have friends anymore,” a familiarly soothing voice reached Crane’s ears, “not by name anyway.”

“Pam I really don’t think you can make that call,” Crane turned to the door, where a familiar redhead was standing, “we’ve known each other since college; that’s not really fair.”

“Whatever Crane,” Ivy shrugged, “I need a place to crash, Batman staked out my greenhouse again.”

“You have a pair of keys,” Crane reasoned.

“I like to ask permission,” Ivy shrugged, “bring Enigma, he’s fun.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those kids come back by the way. They are basically the cryptic movers of the plot.  
> That or they're a moment for Crane or Nygma to bounce feelings off of a sympathetic soul.  
> They're very good listeners.


	5. And Stories to Tell

Nygma hadn’t expected much from Crane, beleaguered tolerance, a best, but this was a little different.  Over a month since he’d crashed at Crane’s apartment for the first time, nearly two, and he was learning new things every day.  He had to admit he respected Crane, and, to a lesser extent, enjoyed his cynical company.

But the minute Ivy showed up Nygma felt excluded again.  Crane stopped talking to Nygma, stopped responding to his attempts to add to the conversation, only shooting him occasional looks that seemed somewhere between insulted and irritated.  A lump began to form in the very back of Nygma’s throat.

Something in that look was telling Nygma to go away.

Ivy, who Nygma had never pegged as a friend of Crane’s, had read those looks and now held Nygma in a death grip with one arm.  Something about her tone was telling Nygma that she didn’t like the looks Crane was giving Nygma, but wasn’t about to argue against them, just keep Nygma right where he was.

For the second time in two months, Nygma was standing in Crane’s apartment.  Nygma honestly had to admit he sort of liked the tidy little place.  There was something about how it was decorated, with some vague horror-esque edge but still very welcoming, that just felt right.  An oddly constant, but not unwelcome, scent of apple cider that filled every room, which Nygma now noticed was coming from several of those weird stick-scent-diffuser bottles that had been placed around the apartment, melded so well with the décor he hadn’t really noticed the first time around.  Nygma couldn’t quite explain it, he just felt safe in here.  And this was all considering that the owner of the apartment was very willing to kill if he got pissed off enough.

“Are you going to talk to him or are you going to keep sulking?” Ivy shut the door and released Nygma, “I don’t even get why you’re so upset.”

“I ain’t upset Pam,” Crane sat down on his couch and crossed his legs, looking away from Ivy and Nygma.  He looked like a toddler, a tall, gangly noodle of a toddler.  That ginger girl’s description of him was surprisingly accurate.

“Your accent begs to differ Atlanta,” Ivy commented.

“Oh don’ even start callin’ me that one,” Crane turned back to glare at Ivy, “only Scales calls me that an’ he has special rights t’.”

“Atlanta?” Nygma glanced at Ivy in confusion.

“Crane’s from Georgia,” Ivy replied, “hides his accent pretty well; except when he’s upset, or angry, or excited…or drunk.”

“Crane drinks?”

“I am from Georgia,” Crane nodded.

“Oh look you finally talked to him,” Ivy smiled.

“Shut up Pam.”

“You are such a pain,” Ivy rubbed her temples, “okay, Nygma, go into the guest room.”

“What?” Nygma asked.

“Crane obviously isn’t going to say anything to me if you’re here, so I’m going to talk to him, alone.”

Nygma edged out of the room and shut the door behind him.  Curiosity dictated he eavesdrop; logic dictated that would set him back on the quest to gain Crane’s trust.  Further logic dictated that this apartment had paper-thin walls and he could hear every word anyway so either way it didn’t matter.  There was a fat calico cat sitting on his lap now and he was trapped because goddammit this cat was heavy.

“Keeny,” Ivy’s voice was softer than before, “what’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” Crane hissed, with some level of forced restraint on his voice, like he was holding back his accent and wrestling to keep calm.

“Keeny,” Ivy repeated the name, which clearly had a meaning to Crane at the very least, “you’re trying not to trust him, aren’t you?”

“He tried to kill me Pam.”

“And you gained his respect.  Nygma doesn’t harass just anyone on the phone you know, plus you’ve been getting free Starbucks out of it.  Has he bought you cat food yet?”

Nygma looked down at the cat on his lap and made a mental note to find out what kind of cat food Crane gave his cats.

“No Pam, he hasn’t, because that’s fucking weird.”

Nygma was doing it anyway.

“Jonathan,” Ivy hummed, “Jonathan Keeny has much more of a ring to it than Jonathan Crane.”

“Pam, my walls are like paper can we not have this conversation with Nygma in the guest room?”

Keeny was a surname then, Nygma tensed up slightly; the name was kind of foreign to him, and it didn’t help that Nygma had grown up in Gotham, far away from Crane’s hometown.  Nygma didn’t quite know what to imagine, there were stereotypes about the South, but those were hardly what you’d consider reliable.

“I know you take a while just to trust,” Ivy began as footsteps approached the door, “but I think you’re better off not forcing yourself to distrust someone.  And you can start,” the door to the guest room creaked open, “by telling Enigma the wholly unfunny story of Karen Keeny and her son, Jonathan Crane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um....I can't write Southern accents? Sorry?


	6. Some Chances for Pain

Nygma sat quietly on the floor of the living room, about an hour of sitting in silence had passed since Crane had finished telling his story, with Ivy beside him the entire time, almost as if ready to act in case Crane had a breakdown of some sort.

There wasn’t anything to say.  Things made sense now, sure, trust issues, an obsession with fear, the fact that he almost immediately identified Nygma as an abuse victim, but a lot didn’t.

“The insomnia?” Nygma glanced up at Crane.

“That’s recent,” Crane rolled his neck, “well, if you consider three years ago recent.”

“Crane has a subconscious phobia of sleeping,” Ivy said bluntly, “because he chronically gets nightmares _and_ night terrors because of his exposure to fear gas.  He ALSO got addicted to caffeine pills and got hospitalized once because he nearly went into cardiac arrest.”

“That was not a necessary story to tell him,” Crane replied.

“You nearly killed yourself with the mildest stimulant on the market?” Nygma raised his eyebrows.

“I did take an entire bottle of pills in one day,” Crane shrugged.

“One hour,” Ivy corrected, “an entire bottle in one hour, that’s what the doctor said.”

“It felt longer than that.”

“Doctor said you told him that too.”

“Pam.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nygma interrupted, gesturing to Crane, “Crane is not your mother’s last name.”

“Nope,” Crane shook his head, “it’s my dad’s.”

“Who you’ve never met,” Nygma continued.

“Correct,” Crane nodded.

“You were raised by your religious nut of a grandmother.”

“Mmhm.”

“Who was abusive, and when you were eighteen, you killed her.”

“Yup.”

“And you weren’t arrested?”

“Nope.”

“And she, along with several years of ruthless bullying, drove you to become the Scarecrow.”

“Are you trying to get this straight in your head or piss me off?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just a little farfetched.”

“My life is a soap opera, but we’re in Gotham that’s pretty normal.”

“This explains a lot actually.”

“It does?”

“But I have one more question.”

“Just one?”

“If all of that is true, why didn’t you become a hero?”

Crane paused and glanced up at Ivy, then back at Crane.

“What do you mean?” he asked after a few seconds.

“Instead of instilling fear into all of Gotham, why not just instill fear in the people who exploit the weak?”

“Who says I don’t?” Crane grinned, a psychotic look in his eyes, “You follow my work; who are my favorite targets?”

“Corporations, Gotham University...mostly prominent members of the…people who cheat and swindle for a living.”

Crane’s grin widened.

“Took you longer than the Bat to figure that one out, huh Eddie?”

“You’ve crossed the creepy threshold, this is officially methodical and demented.”

“Crane I think you need a nap,” Ivy commented.

“Nope,” Crane’s expression shifted suddenly and he walked over to his cupboard, pulling out a mason jar full of a clear, orange colored liquid.

“Crane you have company,” Ivy protested.

“If he wants some I’ll pour him a glass,” Crane replied nonchalantly, breaking the seal on the mason jar and opening it.

“That all depends what is it?” Nygma stood and walked over to the counter.

“Moonshine,” Crane shrugged.

“You have extremely concentrated alcohol in your cupboard?” Nygma glanced up at Crane.

“It tastes like apple pie.”

“You’re utterly insane.”

“I have strawberry flavored too.”

Crane took a long swig of the liquid and slammed the mason jar back on the table.

“Ivy’s behind you how pissed does she look?” Crane asked.  Nygma glanced behind him to see Ivy with her head in her hand.

“I’m not sure, she looks more disappointed than angry.”

“Disappointed is worse.  Want some?”

Crane held out the mason jar with a slight smirk on his face.

“How strong is it?”

“It’s moonshine Nygma.”

Nygma took the mason jar and took a small sip, then immediately placed it back on the counter and looked at Ivy.  A warm taste, not unwelcome but odd, travelled over his tongue.  He liked it, granted, but he was just bewildered that he was tasting alcohol; it did _not_ taste like alcohol.

“You look immensely upset Nygma,” Crane commented.

“That’s not alcohol,” Nygma pointed to the mason jar.

“In denial a bit?” Crane guessed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Moonshine.”

“Why the fuck are you drinking that?”

“Because it’s good.”

“ _So is vodka_!”

“Vodka can’t get you drunk in half a bottle,” Crane replied, taking the mason jar from Nygma and drinking more of the orange liquid inside.

“You’re trying to get drunk?”

“You got a better way to knock me out feel free to suggest it.”

“Oh no,” Nygma lifted the mason jar out of Crane’s hand, “I can list several hospital visits and 911 calls that can tell you why that is not a good plan.”

“Give me back my booze,” Crane protested, reaching for the mason jar and failing.  Despite only being an inch apart in height, Nygma’s arms were slightly longer.

He was also standing on his toes.

“I can’t trust you with this stuff,” Nygma said decisively.

“Your arms are easily broken Nygma.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“I am an adult.”

“You’re a drunk adult trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“Fuck yeah I am now give me back my moonshine.”

“Ivy could you please take this?” Nygma handed the mason jar to Ivy, who took it, and quickly dumped the remaining contents out the window.

“Traitor!” Crane yelled, trying to claw his way over Nygma, who was trying to hold onto him and not get smacked in the face by one of Crane’s flailing limbs.  It wasn’t working but Crane wasn’t trying to punch him just yet.

“Careful Eddie, he bites,” Ivy commented.

Nygma looked down at Crane, only to get socked in his eye.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Nygma screamed, trying to keep his hold on Crane, “For someone so skinny he certainly punches like a monster!  Fuck!”

Nygma pinned Crane against the fridge and tried to wrench his arm out of Crane’s mouth, as he'd bitten down on it when it got close enough.

“I’m calling Joker,” Ivy pulled out her phone.

“No we can control this twig ourselves!” Nygma insisted.

Crane swung his head back into Nygma’s face, then landed an elbow at the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack and spurt of blood.

“I ain’t no twig!” he screamed, grabbing Nygma’s collar.  Nygma grabbed Crane’s hair and gave it a hard yank, pulling Crane’s head back.

“I could use some help Ivy,” Nygma yelled, holding his nose with one hand.  Ivy pointed to the phone at her ear and raised her eyebrows.  Nygma let out a loud groan and stomped on both of Crane’s feet to keep him from bringing one up and kneeing him in the groin.

“Jack?” Ivy said loudly, looking directly at Crane, “Hi Clown, Jon’s beating the shit out of Eddie, could you please come help us control the little sociopath?  Hm?  Yeah he is.  He also broke Eddie’s nose and is probably going to find some way to get out of the scalp-hold he’s in.”

Sure enough, Crane twisted around and sunk his teeth into Nygma’s arm.  Nygma screamed and released Crane, who threw his head forward and head-butted Nygma in the face.

“Five minutes?” Ivy smirked and glanced at Crane, “See you then?  What?  No, we can’t shoot him just because he’s violent and drunk.”

“Ivy just tell him to get over here!” Nygma screamed, trying to get Crane into a headlock, and in the process getting flipped onto the ground and elbowed in the gut.

The door snapped open and a shot fired into the counter, making Crane hit the ground and look around wildly.  A tall man stood at the door with a furious look on his face.

“Nevermind J, Lawton was home,” Ivy muttered into the phone, then hung up.

“What the hell did you two do?” the man asked.

“We stopped him from giving himself alcohol poisoning,” Ivy replied, “he was not happy.”

“You dumped out good moonshine!” Crane protested.

“I don’t have time for this,” the man sighed, “Crane I will shoot you if you make that much noise again.”

The man shut the door and Crane stared at it for a few seconds before getting to his feet and walking into his room.

“You might wanna take Nygma to the hospital I think I broke a rib.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has anyone been reading these chapter titles?  
> They're really cheesy and I have no excuse.  
> Also Lawton is Crane's next door neighbor.


	7. Stitches and Such

After a five hour trip to the emergency room in which Nygma and Ivy had to explain that the broken nose and two sets of bleeding bite marks on Nygma were a result of trying to restrain someone who was hell bent on drinking himself unconscious, the two returned to Crane’s apartment to find Joker on the couch, trying to get the empty mason jar off his hand.

“Where were you two?” Joker asked.

“The hospital,” Ivy replied, “I did say that Crane broke Nygma’s nose right?”

“Yeah great can you help me get this off?” Joker held up the mason jar.

“You got bored didn’t you?”

“Exceedingly.”

Ivy grabbed the jar and planted a foot on Joker’s sternum before yanking the mason jar.  After a few minutes it came off with a loud pop and a crack, followed by a yelp from Joker.  Ivy moved forward briefly before Joker held up his other hand.

“Just dislocated it,” he promised, “I can fix it.”  Joker pulled his hand back and with a loud snap, popped his wrist back into place.  “Good as new,” he smiled and wiggled his fingers.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Ivy asked.

“I teach myself stuff all the time,” Joker smiled, “though in all seriousness, I broke my wrist at least fourteen times teaching myself to dislocate and relocate it.”

“That sounds painful.”

“It was.”

Ivy sighed and glanced over to the door of Crane’s bedroom.

“How is he?”

“Asleep,” Joker shrugged, “and before you ask, yes, I’m sure, I tried waking him up and he punched me.”

“Yeah that’s what I’m worried about,” Ivy sighed, “I mean he’s been doing pretty well the past month but…”

“Red he’s fine,” Joke leaned back on the couch, “by the way, Harley says hi.”

“I was going to ask why she isn’t here,” Ivy crossed her arms.

“I have priorities when Bats is chasing me,” Joker replied, “Harley is third.”

“First is himself so what’s second?” Nygma asked.

“Batman probably,” Ivy answered, “even if Joker pretends to try and kill the Bat he would never do it.  I take it she’s in Arkham now.”

“Or mad at me,” Joker shrugged, “who knows?  I was at an old amusement park hiding from Two-Face’s new murder buddy.  Have you guys seen Blade yet?”

“Blade?” Ivy asked, sitting on the couch beside Joker.

“Tiny kid with knives that Two-Face either hired, or picked up off a street corner, possibly both,” Joker waved his hand dismissively, “he’s wicked fast, psychotic, and an irritating acrobat.  I must’ve crossed into Two Face’s territory by accident while running from Bats.  The kid came plummeting from out of nowhere and nearly gutted me.”

“That sounds like Batman only a murderer,” Nygma commented, “and less bravado.  Batman at least talks to you.”

“He talks to you?” Ivy glanced at Nygma.

“He talks to you too you just don’t listen,” Joker commented.

“Shut it Clown.”

“Rude.”

Nygma snorted.  As clear as it was that Ivy and Joker didn’t exactly like each other, he had always assumed that they were more than willing to kill each other on sight.  And yet here they were, having the closest thing two psychopaths could get to a civil conversation.

“Oh yeah Eddie,” Joker glanced at Nygma, “I heard you’ve been a creepy stalker with Crane for the past month.  Did he tell you the story yet?”

“After I yelled at him,” Ivy muttered, “why do you think he tried getting drunk on moonshine?”

“Huh,” Joker frowned, “he’s not usually that reluctant to let down barriers, especially with someone so persistent.  Has Nygma done anything not-okay since the murder attempt?”

Joker glanced at Ivy, who shrugged and shook her head.

“Not that I know of, and Selina says Crane’s been more patient than usual with him.”

“It might be the similarities in their pasts.”

“What about Scales?  Jon warmed up to him pretty quick.”

“Who is Scales?”

“Croc.”

“Oh Disney?  Nah not the same.  Disney’s from the South like Jon, they bond over sweet tea and moonshine.”

“I’m trying to discern if that was blatant stereotyping or if you’re dead serious because they do drink moonshine together on a startlingly regular basis.”

“I know when two idiots are drinking buddies Red.  Also I’ve gone drinking with them; don’t do it.”

“I don’t drink.”

“I do but I don’t drink like those monsters.”

A loud throat clearing alerted the three guests that Crane was awake and listening from the doorway.

“Are we done gossiping?” he asked.

“How much of that did you hear?” Ivy asked.

“More than you’d like,” Crane replied, walking around into the kitchen and turning on the coffee machine, picking up a struggling kitten in the middle of the trip, “why are you here Joker?”

“I’m bored and both my goons and Harley got bagged by Bats,” Joker replied, picking up the mason jar and inspecting it, “thought it’d be interesting here, since you did break a man’s nose and you were drunk.”

“I’m still a little drunk,” Crane replied, “put that down.”

“Why?” Joker asked.

“I don’t trust you with glass, or anything breakable.”

Joker glanced at Ivy briefly before hurling the mason jar at Crane’s head, where it shattered into several pieces.  The room was dead silent for a few seconds, save for Joker’s hysterical laughter.  Ivy stepped away from Crane and slid anything breakable away from him.

“This is going to end with another emergency room visit,” Nygma muttered.

“Call 911,” Ivy handed Nygma her phone, “Crane’s got at least one head gash, and Joker’s not gonna be moving.”

Crane slowly turned his head towards Joker, a malicious glint in his eye.  There was blood running down the side of his face.  Joker’s laughter died down and he stood slowly, a smile still plastered on his face despite a definite look of terror about him.

“Come on Jonny it was just a joke,” he held up his hands, “you know that I wouldn’t try and kill you, not on purpose.”

Crane didn’t say a word and backed Joker up to a wall before grabbing his collar and shoving him out the open window.

There was a scream long before they heard the body hit the ground.

“Shit,” Ivy clicked her teeth.

“You know I’m starting to think hanging around you assholes is bad for my health,” Nygma commented.

“You’re just starting now?”

“Yeah I probably should’ve gotten a clue by this point.”

“Why are we standing here when someone just got shoved out a window?”

“It’s Joker?  And Crane shoved him?”

“Oh, right.  Didn’t I tell you to call 911?”

“I’m pretty sure someone already did.”

As if to confirm this, sirens began to go off in the distance.

“Hey Ivy?” Nygma glanced at Ivy.

“Yeah?”

“I think we’re going to jail.”

“Yeah…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So based on what I know about people with a disposition like Joker's they can be a normal functioning human one moment and a violent psychopath the next, hence the disconnects and random odd choices and OOC moments.  
> Joker's not all there and that's hard to do, trust me.


	8. Strange Encounters

Selina was going to be out of town for a whole month, and had begged Nygma to house-sit for Crane while the idiot was in Arkham.  After learning that she’d already asked Ivy and gotten a resounding no, Nygma was her last resort.  It was probably for the best, everyone, after finding that Crane was okay with Nygma, had been asking him to do things relating to him.  This left Nygma in a weird situation where he was talking to Crane on a regular basis, even though there were definite points where neither of them wanted to.

Nygma agreed, and was immediately saddled with a grocery list, as apparently Crane would also be getting out the same month that Selina was going to be gone.

Nygma was very tired by the time he actually got to a store that would let him in, a goddamn Target.  He wasn’t even sure half the stuff on this list was even there, or that the meager amount of money he had would be enough to pay for it.

It also didn’t help that he couldn’t read half of the stuff on the list because Selina had the worst handwriting of all the Gotham Rogues, except maybe Joker.

Thus, calculator in hand, Nygma was still wandering his way through the aisles trying to find coffee, which he couldn’t find.  He found the tea, but it didn’t look like he was finding any Dark Roast coffee unless he was asking for help.  Nygma turned and scoured the aisle for the fifth time, doing his best to ignore the ginger-haired girl he may or may not have kidnapped in October, who was amid trying to reach a large dark green box of tea on the top shelf.  He was doing pretty well too, until she started climbing the shelves to reach it.

“You could ask someone for help,” Nygma commented finally.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” the girl insisted, snatching the box and clambering ungracefully to the ground, then whirled around, shoving the box in Nygma’s face so he could quite clearly read the gold lettering typed across the front.

“I’m struck with a strange familiarity of the idiot I am grocery shopping for,” Nygma muttered, “except he can reach the top shelf without climbing it.  Since you seem to not need any help with anything, do you know where I can find coffee?”

“Uh, it’s right behind you,” the girl gestured to the shelves behind Nygma, “you looked distracted, not blind.”

“Oh,” Nygma scowled and turned around, searching the shelves for the brand on the list.

“Do you Big Bad Gotham Criminals shop for each other often?” the girl hopped up onto Nygma’s cart and looked at the list briefly before grabbing two bags off the shelf and dropping them in the cart.

“Thank you,” Nygma shoved the girl off, “and no, I’m house-sitting for one of them while he’s in Arkham.”

“Well there goes my theory that it was Catwoman,” the girl sighed and looked at the cart, “so who is it?  Wait, I was just at Arkham last week I might be able to guess.”

“You were at Arkham?” Nygma glanced at the girl.

“My teachers think I’m going to become the next Scarecrow because I like horror movies,” the girl explained quickly, “they asked my parents to set up regular appointments, hoping they could condition it out of my brain.  My parents did it out of obligation, so I’m having regular visits to a guy telling me that liking scary things is a sign of a psychotic mind.”

“Crane’s not even psychotic,” Nygma shook his head, “he’s a violent drunk and you shouldn’t piss him off, but he’s pretty decent, considering most of Gotham’s criminals.”

“You included?” the girl asked.

“No I’m way cooler.”

“You’re wearing bright red jeans.”

“You are too.”

“I’m a teenager, I have an excuse.”

“Your age is not an excuse.”

“Dude, those are the exact same pants only they have dickspace.”

“You mean they’re made for men.”

“I mean they have dickspace, clothes are not gendered Mr. Riddler.”

“I have a name.”

“Yeah it’s the Riddler.”

“It’s Edward Nygma.”

The girl paused and mouthed the name to herself for a few moments before looking at Nygma and bursting out laughing.

“It’s not that funny.”

“It’s not funny at all!  I’m just amazed anyone takes you seriously!”

“I’m trying to decide if I should be insulted or not.”

“No, no you’re fine that name is a riot though,” the girl calmed herself, straightened up, and snatched a box of crackers off a shelf, tossing them in the cart, “my name’s Abigail Curtis, by the way.”

“That’s a nice name,” Nygma replied, “so why are you here?”

“I have no life and live within walking distance of a target,” Abigail shrugged, “it’s a good place to go when I want to avoid psychiatrist appointments.”

“It’s not like your psychiatrist shows up at your door.”

“Oh no, he does, exceedingly often.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Tell my psychiatrist that, and my teachers.”

“So you’re hiding from your psychiatrist?”

“And getting tea,” Abigail held up the box of tea, “though I think being seen with you might make my psychiatrist try telling me riddles are the spawn of Satan.”

“How exactly does he tell you that you’re interests are signs of criminal activity?”

“He asks me if I find fear interesting, if I ever have any urges to recreate events in horror films, and if I look up to any patients in Arkham.”

“And?”

“Fear is inherently interesting so he’s full of shit, most events in horror films are either scientifically inaccurate or too messy so I’m not interested, and I mean Scarecrow is just the coolest so that’s two out of three.”

“What’s he working on right now?”

“He’s trying to convince me that when other people are frightened, then I should be too.  I’m not scared of most of the common phobias in the world, except needles.”

“I think most people are subconsciously terrified of needles.  Anything else?”

“Centipedes, silverfish, cockroaches, and clowns.”

“The first three are understandable, but clowns?”

“You know the Joker.”

“I see your point.  So you think fear is interesting?”

“Can you think of anything else that brings out the basest survival instincts of humanity?”

“I see your point.”

“Fear is simultaneously society’s glue and the thing tearing it apart, how can that not be interesting?”

“Also a valid point.  Well you certainly sound like Crane.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Nygma paused.  Was that a good thing?  As much as he had tried to become friends with Crane (there so rarely came a person Nygma respected as an equal), he never really knew whether or not he liked Crane.  He found Crane…endearing, in a cynical and somehow always angry way that he was fairly certain Crane used to push people away.  Nygma liked him well enough; he was polite, albeit a bit deadpan in his speech, and had a habit of constantly speaking in a very patronizing way.  He talked like everyone around him was stupid, and that may or may not include the person he was talking to.  But there was something else, the way he held himself, like walking on needles, he was anxious.  Not scared, mind, Nygma would never confuse the two, but he was definitely shades of anxious.  This probably had to do with his childhood and was linked to his all too apparent trust issues, but it did make Nygma somewhat protective of Crane, if not overly so.

“I think it is,” Nygma said finally, “why do you ask?”

“I was trying to guess who you were shopping for,” Abigail replied with a shrug, “Crane was in when I visited, and you did mention him twice.”

“Stunning deduction Sherlock.”

Abigail flashed a smile.

“I’m surprised actually?”

“Hm?”

“An interest in fear, a love of horror, those aren’t really common traits in Gotham.  Even Crane grew up somewhere else.”

“Oh I grew up in Metropolis, my family moved here last year, around April,” Abigail paused and looked down at her feet, “You don’t get those jeers and worried looks in Metropolis; liking horror is just a passion.  No one expects you to dress up and rob a bank, you’re a kid who likes creepy stuff, big deal.”

“You have friends right?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Abigail nodded, “Luna and Rachel, the other two girls that were with me, they’re cool; Luna’s obsessed with puns though.”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“My older sister thinks they’re a riot.  Oh, I also have four siblings, so that might help.”

“Four?”

“Yep, Melody, Jasper, Sarah, and Troy, the Curtis Quintet, as everyone in Metropolis called us.”

“Well known?”

“My dad works for LexCorp, a lot of the other employees called us that.”

“That sounds like a circus act.”

“Looking at my family?  I don’t doubt that we can be sometimes.”

“That should be the last thing,” Nygma took a gallon jug from the shelves, “think you can stop following me now?”

“Sure,” Abigail saluted Nygma and walked away.

Right through the wall.

Nygma stared at the wall for a few seconds, looked around, then frowned.

“She didn’t pay for that box of tea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate early versions of my OCs? BUT OF COURSE!


	9. Stranger Romances

“I think these visits are their way of forcing us to interact,” Crane sighed loudly from behind the sheet of bulletproof glass, “how’s the house?”

“Well it’s clean,” Nygma shrugged, “Who’s in right now?”

“Harley, Jervis, Scales is down in the water tanks,” Crane shrugged, “you know you missed Wayne coming by to visit yesterday.  Oh yeah, before I forget.”

Crane pulled a covered scalpel from inside his uniform and slipped it through one of the breathing holes, “they’re gonna figure out it’s here any day now.”

“When did you sneak a scalpel in?” Nygma looked at the surgical implement, “How did you get a scalpel in?”

“Oh I was an intern here in college and I worked here a bit,” Crane shrugged, “I know where they don’t check during the full body search.”

“Don’t tell me,” Nygma commented, quickly pocketing the scalpel, “I don’t want to know where it’s been.  In fact I might wash my hands when this visit is over.”

“Dude relax,” Crane rolled his eyes, “I hid it in my mouth.”

“That is gross and unsanitary.”

“It gets me out of sharing my bunk with some of these tools but they put me with Jervis this time.”

“Oh.  Say, does your psychiatrist do sessions with a girl named Abigail Curtis?”

“Hm?  Oh yeah, tells me I’m ‘contaminating the brains of today’s youth’ it’s hilarious, why?”

“I ran into her while grocery shopping; she shoplifted a box of tea.”

“Why would you shoplift a box of tea?”

“The Next Scarecrow: rebelling against the system by stealing caffeinated leaf water.”

“Oh my god Nygma.”

“She also has some other mannerisms you’ll find entertaining.”

“Such as?”

“Well for starters she’s the one who headbutted your face.”

“Oh my god are you serious?”

“Yeah she’s that shitty little ginger, cool huh?”

“Nevermind, I can totally see that little shit shoplifting a box of tea.”

Nygma snorted.  As much as these visits were definitely the other Rogues trying to force a friendship, Nygma did, in a way, enjoy them.  Crane’s cynicism was mellower now, probably a result of the sedatives in Arkham’s food.  And there was a certain edge to his brand of humor that was far from unwelcome.

A shudder went up Nygma’s spine suddenly, noticing that Crane was a lot skinnier than he was during Nygma’s last visit.  He’d looked like he was keeping a steady weight for the past four months, though he was pretty twig-like to begin with, it was hard to tell, but now he definitely looked thinner.

“What’s up?” Crane rapped on the glass with a bony knuckle, “You went stiff all of a sudden.”

“Crane,” Nygma leaned into the glass, “you look a lot thinner, is that just me?”

“Hm?” Crane furrowed his brow, “Oh no I’ve lost weight.  Just haven’t been hungry lately that’s all.”

“You’re not eating?” Nygma swallowed.  Something wasn’t right, something in the back of his mind was starting to bear down on him.  He was remembering whispers from the waiting room, reluctance and concern edging nurses’ voices as they spoke about something Nygma couldn’t hear from his chair.

“No, but it happens a lot, it’s no problem I’ll get over it,” Crane flashed a smile Nygma immediately identified as fake.

“Are you lying to me?” Nygma stood slowly, “Crane you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Crane replied, his fake smile fading, there were bags under his eyes, “I haven’t been hungry.  It’s probably just nerves, it’ll pass.”

“Nerves?” Nygma felt a certain wave of irritation wash over him, “Nerves don’t make a person starve themselves.  I get them, I should know.”

“Like I said it’ll pass,” Crane replied, rubbing the back of his neck, “I get nervous sometimes it just happens.”

“Lying to make me feel better isn’t going to work,” Nygma snarled, “especially when I can tell you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit!” Nygma slammed his fist against the glass.  Crane flinched and stepped back.  “Look, I understand that you really don’t want to trust me but the fact of the matter is, you don’t have a choice.”

“I do trust you,” Crane said slowly, almost as if he didn’t believe the words leaving his own mouth.

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not, and if I ask one of the nurses, they’re going to tell me you do this a lot, because the fact that you’re lying so casually means you tell Selina this bullshit and you tell it to Ivy too, but I’m assuming they don’t say anything because they don’t want to upset you but you know what?  I’d rather you be upset with me than dead.  Why aren’t you eating?”

Crane stared at Nygma for a few seconds before exhaling slowly.

“Because I can’t keep it down,” he replied, “in a lot of ways, it is nerves.  I haven’t slept for two weeks and I’ve been getting panic attacks almost every night.  The nurses are considering not even releasing me on the day they said they would.”

Nygma sat back down and crossed his arms.

“Why though?” he asked.

“How should I know?” Crane raised his voice, “I’ve been dealing with this shit since I was a kid!  Sometimes I get really anxious for no reason and suddenly I’m a wreck!  I have chronic anxiety, chronic insomnia, chronic depression, I’m a walking corpse sometimes, I can’t explain it and I have a goddamn phd.  All I know is, sometimes I get like this and it sucks okay?  I don’t want to tell anyone so I lie.  Add that to the list of diseases; I’m a pathological liar, shoot me.”

Crane turned and sunk to the ground.

“You tell Selina or Ivy, I hurt you.”

“I wasn’t going to tell them,” Nygma moved from the chair to the ground, “I was going to tell you something.”

“Oh yeah?” Crane glanced back at Nygma, “What’s that?”

“You’re a paranoid dork.”

“Hey!”

“Well what do you expect them to say?  That you have no one to blame but yourself?  I think they know better.”

“You’ve got a lot more trust in humanity than I do.”

“Hey, that’s not all true,” Nygma rapped on the glass lightly, “I do think I’m the smartest person in Gotham.”

“Oh you are not the smartest person in Gotham,” Crane turned all the way around, “I can name at least three people who are smarter than you, and one of them is a lot less stable.”

“Joker is not smarter than me.”

“Now why are you assuming that I’m talking about Joker?”

“You said less stable.”

“I was talking about Jervis.”

“That’s even worse!”

“How is Jervis worse than Joker?”

Nygma paused briefly.

“I see your point.”

“Mmhmm, yeah I thought so.”

“He’s not smarter.”

“Can you make a mind control device that can also make tea and can be controlled remotely from the other side of the city?”

“You are an asshole.”

“Oh, look, visiting hours are up,” Crane pressed his forehead against the glass and looked down the hall, where two doctors were escorting a small blonde man towards the cell, “see you next week?”

“Yeah,” Nygma nodded and stood, “try to get some rest okay?  I know it’s easier said than done, but I know several people, and three cats, who wouldn’t be very happy if you dropped dead.”

“I’m not gonna drop dead,” Crane smirked.

“I don’t like taking chances.  Until next time.”

“Yeah, until next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I changed some tags, yeah consider that hints at later chapters.
> 
> As a reminder, I'm about 7-8 chapters ahead of what's posted.
> 
> Also when I say Jon and Scarecrow are not the same, I mean they're two different personalities, not people.


	10. Small Oddities

“Well?”

Ivy looked expectant.

“What?”

“Did you tell him?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Pam.”

“Jon.”

Crane snorted and nodded, “I told him.”

“Oh you’re going to give me gray hairs Jon,” Ivy rubbed her temples.

“Save it Pam,” Crane smirked, “it’s not like it was going to take forever; I think Nygma’s obnoxiousness can shatter glass.”

“And Joker?” Ivy raised an eyebrow.

“Haven’t spoken to him,” Crane replied, “is he out of the hospital?”

“I don’t know!” Ivy sighed loudly, “and don’t even get me started on their pets I’m about to strangle both of them.”

“What about Houdini?” Crane tilted his head to the side.

“Who the fuck is Houdini?”

“Oh god no one told you about the bird.”

“Bird?”

“Joker, he owns an African grey parrot, its name is Houdini.”

“Naming a parrot Houdini is just asking for trouble.”

“Yeah well I didn’t tell Nygma about any fucking birds and Houdini likes flying into my apartment like Craw is still there.”

“What happened to Craw?”

“Dullahan tried to kill him too many times; I ended up giving him to an animal shelter.”

“You could train the cat not to eat the bird.”

Crane let out a laugh, “You don’t train cats.”

Ivy let out a loud sigh and looked Crane up and down.  He looked a lot better than he had on Monday.

“Are you eating again?” Ivy asked.

“Hm?” Crane raised an eyebrow, “Not much but yeah, why?”

“You look….happy.”

“Pam we’ve been over this.  Happy is for squares.”

“On Monday you looked absolutely miserable and two days later you’re joking like you normally do and actually look like you’ve slept?  What are the drugging you with?”

“Pam I swear to god.”

An orderly tapped Ivy on the shoulder.

“Dr. Brown wants to see him,” the orderly said meekly, gesturing to Crane, “I’m afraid we have to cut visiting hours short.”

Ivy nodded, then stood and pointed to Crane.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she promised.

“Oh yes it is,” Crane smirked, watching her walk away.

“Dr. Crane,” the orderly spoke up.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Crane got to his feet as the glass panel slid open, “what’s this about?”

“Nothing special,” the orderly replied, leading Crane down the hall.

“Ah, nonspecifics,” Crane raised his eyebrows, “my favorite kind of answers.”

The orderly didn’t reply and led Crane into another room, where a small, dark haired girl was sitting across from a psychiatrist.

A very small dark haired girl, who looked very familiar.

And then it hit him.

“Oh,” Crane gave a curt wave, “got any new puns?”

“Hello!” the girl waved, “How’s your leg?”

“Well it’s been a few months,” Crane shot a quick glance at the ever reddening psychiatrist in the room, “I think the bruise is gone, as is the damage on my pride.”

“What kind of damage?” the girl tilted her head to the side.

“Getting kicked in the shins by an angry ginger,” Crane smirked.  The girl snorted, then burst into hysterics.

“Dr. Crane,” the psychiatrist spoke sternly, standing, “I’d like you to speak with this young lady.  She, and two others, are causing some amount of trouble.  Her name is Luna Grey.”

“She looks fine to me,” Crane shrugged.

“You haven’t spoken to her for any length of time,” the psychiatrist muttered, “two guards are stationed outside, so don’t think about escaping.”

“I’m here for one more week why would I escape if you’re letting me leave in seven days anyway?” Crane yelled as the door slammed shut.

“He was probably planning to bring you in to see Abby but she skipped her meeting on Tuesday,” Luna commented.

“Luna Grey?” Crane smirked.

“Jonathan Crane,” Luna reasoned.

“That still sounds normal,” Crane countered.

“Well what about Edward Nygma?”

“I’m not getting into that one; I fully recognize that Eddie has a stupid name.”

“Oh my god you call him Eddie?” Luna raised her voice, then sat back, “And all this time I thought you guys were all sophisticated.”

“At least three of them call me Atlanta, sophistication is the last thing they’re thinking about.”

“Atlanta?  Wait did you grow up in the South?”

“Mmhmm,” Crane nodded slowly.

“What a coincidence I did too!” Luna brightened up.

“You seem a bit too excited about that.”

“No I wanted to tell Abby, she’d be so annoyed.”

“Tormenting a friend?  That sounds a tad mean.”

“She’s used to it.”

Crane sat down across from Luna and rubbed his temples slightly.

“So you’re here because…?”

“Half of Gotham thinks I’m going to become the next Riddler or Penguin,” Luna replied quickly, “apparently liking puns, suits, and magic tricks qualifies.”

“I’m going to flood the subways with Fear Gas,” Crane groaned.

“When?”

Crane glanced up and noticed that Luna was looking at him expectantly.

“Do you want an actual date?” he asked.

“I just wanna make sure it’s not on Fridays; Abby has dance class on Fridays,” Luna replied, “and she loves Scarecrow, like, to death, but I don’t think she’d enjoy being late because the subways were flooded with Fear Gas.”

“Look, I don’t always plan the exact date into crimes; it’s not my thing.”

“Abby would be very disappointed in you.”

“Why do I care?”

“Abby also knows the formula for Fear Gas by heart.”

“That’s not impressive or convincing, in fact I think it’s cementing my belief that she needs to be in here, alongside her habit of stealing tea.”

“How do you know she does that?”

“Eddie told me.”

“He visits?”

Luna brightened up.

“On Wednesday he did.”

“Should’ve told Ray not to miss her psychiatrist meeting,” Luna muttered.

“I take it this ‘Ray’ is the one your ginger friend knocked over with her braid?” Crane guessed.

“For hair it really packs a punch doesn’t it?” Luna grinned, then straightened up when Crane didn’t laugh, “Yes, her name is Rachel; she’s really nice.”

“Okay so I have no idea what I’m doing here,” Crane sighed, “so I’m gonna knock on the door, tell Dr. Brown that I can’t fix something that isn’t broken, get taken back to my cell, and try to give myself a concussion with the bed post.”

“Have fun with that,” Luna smiled, “hope it’s not your caws of death.”

“That’s not helping.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

Crane paused at the door and looked over at Luna, setting his lips into a line.

Something was off about this girl, really off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puns? Puns.


	11. Riddles and Confessions

Crane was getting out this week, and for some reason Nygma was increasingly excited about it.  Ivy was watching him and commenting about how much he looked like a kid at Christmas, and Joker, leg now out of a cast and seemingly totally chill about being thrown out a window, was blaring every love song he had downloaded on his phone.

Apparently he had a lot.

“Okay I think we’ve tortured him enough,” Ivy commented as the seventeenth song faded out.

“I still have 700 songs to go.” Joker complained.

“Jack…” Ivy warned.

“Can I at least blast It’s Not Unusual when Crane walks in?” Joker begged.

“If you want to go back to the hospital, yes,” Ivy nodded.

“You are such a spoilsport,” Joker scowled.

“I’m not calling 911 because you can’t stop teasing Eddie,” Ivy argued.

“I have the right,” Joker leaned on the couch, “he’s falling hard and can’t tell.”

“Think Crane’s the same?” Ivy looked at Nygma, who was bright red, fidgeting, and confused, all at the same time.

“He’s probably not showing it,” Joker sat down on the floor, “how was he when you visited?”

“He looked healthier,” Ivy shrugged.

“Yeah, he’s falling.”

The door cracked open and Crane stepped in, scooping up Dullahan as the small kitten tried to make a break for it.

“Joker what are you doing to Eddie?” Crane asked, looking irritated.

“I’m torturing him,” Joker grinned.  Crane rolled his eyes and shut the door.

“Did you get Houdini back?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Joker nodded, “and he promptly called me a stupid tit.”

“You are frequently a stupid tit.”

“Rude.”

Nygma was trying to find something to say when Crane dropped Dullahan on Joker and sat down next to him.

“Hi Ed,” Crane greeted.  Nygma went rigid and turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Joker chose this point to start playing Elton John, very loudly, and had his phone kicked out of his hand in retaliation.

“Denial,” Joker smirked and walked over to turn it off.

“Joker don’t you have a girlfriend to torture?” Crane asked.

“Crane if that was supposed to be a joke, I’m going to hit you,” Ivy snapped.

“No I was serious,” Crane scowled, “don’t you have someone else to torment right now?”

“Nah,” Joker replied, “I mean I do, but this is more fun.  I mean come on, Wikipedia isn’t talking.  This is history in the making!”

“Ed?” Crane glanced at Nygma, who was slowly returning to his normal color.  Nygma looked down and fell into his usual habit: spouting riddles.

“The more you take away from me, the larger I become, what am I?”

Crane looked surprised, but smiled slightly and laughed.

“A hole.”

“What is black when you buy it, red when you use it and white when you are done with it?”

“Charcoal.”

“Oh my god Jon stop responding he’s not going to stop if you keep answering them,” Joker groaned.

“Shut up Joker.”

“Whoever makes it, tells it not. Whoever takes it, knows it not. And whoever knows it wants it not. What is it?”

“Counterfeit money.”

“What runs but never walks, has a mouth but cannot talk, has a head but doesn't think and has a bed but refuses to sleep?”

“A river.”

Nygma breathed a sigh and looked at Crane, who was still smiling.

“I thought you hated riddles,” he commented.

“I never said that,” Crane replied, “I just don’t like being forced to solve riddles for my life.  I don’t really like being forced to do anything, much less for the sake of my life.”

“And this is why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in ten years,” Joker muttered.

“Joker, I’m going to hurt you,” Crane snapped.  Crane and Joker dissolved into an argument as Nygma’s attention returned to his feet, and his thoughts went back to what he’d been wondering about before he’d tried speaking.

Which was a simple question that he couldn’t figure out: why was he so happy to see Crane?  For all his skill at riddles, the answer to this one eluded him.  It wasn’t because Crane was a friend; he was too happy for it to just be a friend.  And it was more than joy or excitement, to make matters worse.  Like Joker had said, Nygma wasn’t talking.  Nygma didn’t really know how bad he was at being quiet, but he knew a lot of people thought he talked just to hear his own voice, and in a sense, they were right.  But he wasn’t talking.  Strange as it was, Nygma couldn’t think of anything to say.  Nothing was coming to mind.  No questions, no witty remarks or facts.  His mind was a total white space, that is, unless he was looking at Crane.

Did Crane always look that good?

Nygma had heard, vaguely, along the grapevine that there were a few young women who thought Crane was some level of attractive, but he personally hadn’t quite understood it.  Sure, he was attractive, in the same way a college student was attractive.  It was obvious Crane couldn’t care less about how he looked, and for some reason, he excelled on that front.

You know, if you ignored the inch thick bags under his eyes that were a strange shade of greyish-purple.

“Eddie you’re staring,” Ivy spoke up, pulling Nygma back to earth and realizing that he was, indeed, staring at Crane, blankly.  Nygma immediately looked away and began going over random riddles to himself.

“You alright there?” Crane asked, finally turning his head away from Joker.  Joker grinned and stood.

“I think we need to leave these two alone Ivy,” he hummed, heading for the door.

The confused look on Crane’s face shifted in a heartbeat.

“Wait what?”

“Mm,” Ivy smiled knowingly and nodded, “I agree.”

“What?” Crane repeated, louder and more frantically.

“Oh you’ll be fine Jon,” Joker opened the door and allowed Ivy to walk out first, “after all, it’s not like Eddie’s gonna kill you.”

“Wait just a second!” Crane stood and began to head for the door, which Joker quickly slammed shut, “You son of a bitch!”

Crane kicked the door and heaved a loud sigh, returning to the couch and rubbing his temples.

“Jon?” Nygma spoke shakily.

“Keep going with those riddles,” Crane muttered.

“Hm?”

“They’re forcing us to talk; Joker is literally right behind the door.  Keep.  Going.”

Nygma raised his eyebrows and looked at his feet.  For each riddle that came to mind, Nygma tried to figure out what made Joker so sure that Nygma was falling for Crane.  Nygma could safely say he’d never been in love before, and he wasn’t sure it felt like this.

“What is neither inside the house nor outside the house but a necessity for any home?”

Then again it was also true that he wasn’t sure if it didn’t feel like this.

“Windows.”

The more Nygma thought about it; the more horrified he was that it might actually be true.

“What can you put in a bucket full of water to make it lighter?”

It was bad enough to be in love, but Crane didn’t seem interested in even talking to Nygma.

“A hole.”

Then again Nygma had always been the one who did brave, yet stupid things, like trapping Crane in a deathtrap.  That wasn’t very smart, but it was brave.  You couldn’t deny that it was brave.

“What gets wetter the more it dries?”

Maybe that was it, maybe Crane was still angry about being caught in a deathtrap.  It would certainly explain why he was less than willing to socialize with Nygma.

“A towel.”

No, he still tolerated Nygma, and it was made clear when Crane shoved Joker out a window that angry Crane liked to get back at people, violently.

“I sometimes run, but I cannot walk. You always follow me around. What am I?”

Then what did Crane think of Nygma?  He’d been furious when Joker left him alone with him.  Then again Nygma was being weirdly quiet and had been staring at him.

“A nose.”

Well, all things considered, Crane wasn’t much for deep feelings, much less talking about it, so maybe his method of dealing with it was to avoid it.

“Who makes it, has no need of it. Who buys it, has no use for it. Who use it can neither see nor feel it. What am I?”

Had Crane been in love before?  Now that Nygma thought about it, he didn’t really know if Crane knew what being in love was like.

“A coffin.”

He very well could feel the same way, and was just avoiding it altogether.  There was no way for Nygma to know.

“You can draw me, fire me or fill me in. What am I?”

Wait, yes there was.  He’d been doing it for the past ten minutes, and it was just Nygma’s style.

“A blank.”

And Nygma had the perfect riddle.

“What three words are said too much, yet not enough?”

Crane, who had been resting his forehead in his hands for the past few minutes, lifted his head and looked at Nygma with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“Repeat that,” he said slowly, as if Nygma hadn’t said it clearly when Nygma knew, for a fact, he had.

“What three words are said too much, yet not enough?”

“That could be anything.”

“But you know what the answer is, right?”

Crane’s face flushed a shade of bright pink and he drew his lips into a line.

“No I don’t,” he muttered, his eyes darting away from Nygma briefly.

Nygma waited a few moments, leaning his head in one hand.

Yes, this was just fine.

Nygma reached forward and took Crane’s hand, noticing the slight flinch from Crane.

“Do you want me to tell you the answer?”

Crane looked at Nygma briefly before nodding slowly.

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ED THAT'S FUCKING CORNY


	12. Talks in the Rain

Crane was feeling like an idiot.  That was probably why he was in Gotham Central Park, in the rain, without an umbrella.  He didn’t know what to do when Nygma gave that riddle, he’d panicked.

Well, it was official; Crane was in love.

With an idiotic, flamboyant, jackass.

At least he wasn’t a psychopath.

“Holy shit.”

Crane opened his eyes and looked to his side, where a small, soaking wet teenage girl stood, a gym bag slung over one arm and a look of shock on her face.  Crane narrowed his eyes; he knew that face, and he knew that voice.

It was the ginger who kicked him in the shins, the one that Luna had called Abigail.

“Oh god you’re not gonna kick me again are you?  I’m really not in the mood.”

“Jonathan Crane?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit.”

“Please stop saying that and go away.”

“What are you doing in Gotham Central Park?”

“Trying to catch pneumonia.”

Abigail stared at Crane for a few moments in a mix of confusion and shock.

“Why?”

“Being sick is easier than dealing with emotions.”

“But pneumonia can kill you.”

“Being dead is also easier than dealing with emotions.”

“So you’re the avoidant type.”

“Yes, go away.”

Abigail didn’t move, in fact she seemed to be studying Crane intently.

“Are you in love?” she asked, giving Crane a weird jolt up his spine.

“What the hell gave you that idea?” he yelled.

“Because you sound a lot like my brother,” Abigail replied, “only slightly more invested in avoiding your emotions.  Jasper’s not really invested in anything.”

“I’m going to murder something,” Crane groaned.

“Try Joker,” Abigail commented.

“No, I just got out of Arkham for that, I’m not going back.”

“You tried to kill Joker?”

“He threw a mason jar at my head.”

“You’re weird.”

“You are too.  You tried to headbutt me.”

“I was in a deathtrap how would you react?”

Crane paused and thought back to it.

“Yeah, I did something similar nevermind.”

“So who is it?” Abigail changed the subject.

“What?” Crane asked.

“Who are you in love with?” Abigail clarified, grabbing Crane’s wrist and starting to pull him from his place in the rain, “Come on, I’m late to meet my friend Todd, you can tell me while we walk.”

“I’m a total stranger, I’m not telling you that.”

“Well you’re willingly walking next to me.”

Crane realized that Abigail had stopped pulling his arm and was now walking beside him, looking up at him in curiosity.

“I hate you.”

“I’m fine with this, most people hate me.  Who is it?”

“God you’re persistant.”

“First step is admission.”

“Edward Nygma.”

“Oh my god I should’ve known.”

“Do you have any idea how irritating you are?”

“My brother never stops telling me, I’m quite aware.  Do you not want to be in love?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Didn’t I say that I’m not telling a total stranger this?”

“Think of it like talking to a therapist.”

“I _am_ a therapist.”

“You’re also a murderer who’s in and out of Arkham more than I am, and I have therapy sessions there weekly.”

“You also skip those sessions frequently, as I’m told.”

“You would too.”

“I’m sure I would, we have the same therapist.”

“I wanna break his legs.”

“Do you know how to break someone’s legs?”

“No, but I know a way to sever them.”

“Pardon?”

“Did Nygma tell you I can phase shift?”

“You mean walk through walls?”

“Yes.  See, if I solidify while part of myself is still stuck in a solid object, say, flesh, a wall, a window, a car frame, that thing that’s still in the wall will no longer be part of my body.”

“How did you learn that?”

“I decapitated a baby doll by accident.  Then proceeded to decapitate all my Barbies by the same method.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

“Um, your teachers are a little late if you were purposely decapitating things at age six.”

“I didn’t like Barbie, I was a stuffed animal and baby doll kid.”

“That’s both obvious, and slightly concerning?”

“Pardon?”

“You look increasingly like a doll child.”

“Oh.  Well, are you gonna tell me?”

“Why are you so invested in this?”

“Well,” Abigail hopped up onto a stone ledge and sat down with crossed legs, “I’ve been living my entire life watching people avoid unpleasant things.  People are more content to look at criminals like the scum of the earth as opposed to people who might need help.  For once, just for once, I want to know why avoiding the uncomfortable is so important to someone.”

“A son of a bitch named Lyle Bolton,” Crane spat the name like it was poison.

“Lyle Bolton?” Abigail tilted her head to the side, “You mean the one in Arkham because he kidnapped four innocent people?  The one who called Gotham City an open wound on live television?  The one that got fired from Arkham security for treating the inmates like utter garbage?”

“You’ve heard of him?” Crane asked.

“He’s part of the group of radicals who think strangling divergence in its crib will keep villains from popping up,” Abigail made a vague gesture with her hand, “y’know, the group that’s responsible for my weekly therapy visits.”

“He’s also a prick, want to know more?” Crane leaned on the ledge.  Abigail glanced at Crane, then looked straight forward.

“I’ve heard rumors,” Abigail muttered, “from the other guards.  I haven’t been very sure about them though.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not comfortable talking about it.”

Crane glanced up at Abigail and noticed she had shrunken in a little bit.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“No,” she shook her head, “I think I get it now though.”

“Don’t you have a friend to meet?” Crane asked.  No reply, Abigail simply sunk her head down onto her knees.

“Also thank you,” Crane added, “you helped me think some things through.”

“Hm?” Abigail looked up slightly, she’d turned a slight shade of green.

“Yeah,” Crane nodded, “and if it helps you any, Lyle Bolton’s not getting out of Arkham any time soon.”

Abigail gave a weak smile and hopped off the stone ledge.

“Also, this probably won’t help, but anything regarding crap he did during his tenure as chief of security?  Probably true.  Also very sick, I’m scared to know what ingrained that into his brain as okay.”

“It didn’t help,” Abigail nodded, “but on the bright side, like you said, he’s not getting out of Arkham anytime soon.”

“Alright ya little twerp,” Crane smirked, “go meet your friend and stop bugging me.”

Abigail’s face broke into a smile and she darted forward to hug Crane around the waist.

“I hope everything works out,” she said.  Crane stared at her for a few seconds, trying to discern if he should be angry or overjoyed before finally smiling and replying.

“Me too kid, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God seeing Abigail in this old of a form is so weird now and it's only been a year.  
> Literally I wrote this chapter a year ago I've written to chapter 17.


	13. Among the Childishly Adult

“So?”

Ivy’s grin was uncomfortably wide.  She was enjoying herself way too much.  Nevermind that, she was straight-up irking Crane.

“What?”

“Did he say it?”

“Tell me Ivy, do you just enjoy bothering people for the sake of bothering them?”

“Hm…What’s the word I’m looking for?  Oh yeah: Yes.  Now did he tell you?”

“He is literally incapable of not being corny.”

“How did he confess?”

“Via a riddle.”

Ivy burst into laughter at the sheer idea of it.  Crane sighed loudly.  It was true though, Nygma always was accustomed to being corny; it was one of his more entertaining qualities.  Another was his ability to think of riddles off the top of his head.  His failsafe in conversation was riddles, but that wasn’t the point.

“So are you going to?”

“Leave me alone Pam.”

“I’m just asking.”

“And I have a headache, go away.”

“Did you catch another cold?”

“Go away Pam.”

“I’ll call Nygma and tell him you have a cold.”

“Pam I swear to god.”

“Bye~!”

The door slammed shut and Crane let out another groan.  Technically Ivy was right, he had caught a cold, a very bad cold.  He was wondering if Abigail had caught it too, but less so, after all, she hadn’t seemed very bothered by the rain, maybe this was normal where she was from.  No, the kid grew up in Metropolis; it was almost always sunny there.  She was probably just as sick as he was.

Crane’s phone began to ring on the coffee table, just out of Crane’s reach, and he really didn’t feel like standing.

He didn’t feel like doing anything, who was he kidding?

A few futile attempts to snatch the phone off the table ended with Crane, bundled in a blanket, answering the phone from the floor.

“Hello?” Crane muttered, resting his chin on the cold hardwood floor.

“I heard someone caught a cold,” a familiar voice commented.

“Ed I’m going to kill you,” Crane groaned.

“Where are you?”

“In a blanket.”

“No, where in your apartment are you?”

“The floor.”

“Jon, what room?”

“The kind you breathe in.”

“THAT’S EVERY ROOM IN YOUR APARTMENT JON!”

“I know.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Please don’t.  I’m fine.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“I couldn’t reach my phone.”

“You fucking toddler.”

“Love you too.”

There was an extended pause on the other line before anyone spoke again.

“That was an awful way to say that Jon,” Nygma sighed, from his tone Crane could tell he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Eddie I don’t think you have room to talk you confessed via a corny riddle,” Crane teased.

“I’m trying to be angry with you Jon!”

“You’re too happy that your love isn’t one-sided aren’t you?”

“Yes!  I’m fucking ecstatic but that was a terrible time Jon!”

“Look, are you coming over or not?”

“...Yes.”

“Great, see you then, door’s unlocked.”

“I fell in love with a toddler.”

“Look in a fucking mirror sometime.”

“Jon I’m going to hit you.”

“Rude!  I’m sick you know.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Great, love you!  Bye!”

Crane hung up before Nygma could reply and immediately cocooned himself into the blanket and began cackling hysterically.  His heart was beating out of his chest, he felt like he was going to die, but he couldn’t help it.

Bar none, that was the most nonchalant he’d ever been about how he felt.

Ever.

Something told him Nygma was in so much shock he’d actually forgotten, however briefly, that Crane hadn’t actually said he loved Nygma back.

Well, now Nygma knew.  And Ivy was never going to let Crane live this one down.

* * *

 

Nygma opened the door slowly, unsure if Crane was going to jump out and scare him.  Instead he found Crane, bundled in a brown blanket from the armpits down, on the floor, playing on his phone.

That Nygma could tell, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.  And it made a lot more sense when he noticed the t-shirt tossed haphazardly onto the couch

“Please tell me you have pants on,” Nygma sighed, catching Crane’s attention.

“I’m wearing boxers if that counts,” Crane replied, “I got hot.”

“Jon aren’t you sick?” Nygma raised his voice.

“I never said I was sick,” Crane reasoned, “but yes, yes I am.  I was wearing jeans can you blame me?”

“That doesn’t explain the fact that you aren’t wearing a shirt!”

“Shirts are overrated.”

“Jon!”

“What?”

Crane looked towards Nygma and grinned.

“Oh my god you did this on purpose.”

“No I had to wait until Ivy left to take anything off she’d yell at me.”

“Where are your jeans?”

“Oh they’re at my feet with my socks.”

“You’re literally wearing nothing but boxers?”

“Socks are also overrated.”

Nygma heaved a loud sigh and covered his face.  He was trying very hard not to stare at Crane.  He was a lot less bony than Nygma had expected, and it was increasingly hard to not look at his shoulders.  They were narrow, and sloped rather softly despite being slightly pulled in so Crane could rest on his elbows.  From moving slightly, the blanket had fallen to about Crane’s waist, revealing a large, skeletal tree growing from a heart tattooed across Crane’s back, and an arched spine that was clearly visible on the older man’s extremely thin frame.

“You have a tattoo?” Nygma asked, struggling to make conversation and not stare at Crane’s bare skin like a creep.

“Way to be subtle about the staring Ed,” Crane praised in a deadpan voice, “but yeah, I do, like it?”

“It’s...” Nygma searched for the right words, “fitting.”

“You were just staring at me and couldn’t think of something to say,” Crane guessed, “wow, I never thought you’d be so modest as to be rendered speechless by a bare back.”

“Jon please don’t do this,” Nygma covered his face with his hands again.

“You are so innocent,” Crane snickered.

“I am not!” Nygma lowered his hands quickly and glared at Crane.

“Oh really?”

There was a clunk as Crane dropped his phone and flipped over onto his back to stare at Nygma expectantly.  Nygma immediately went a brilliant shade of scarlet.

Never before had he been so glad and so upset to be wrong at the same time.

It didn’t matter that you could see almost every rib or that the way his hips sloped was a little sharp and bony, his bare chest was just a sight to behold for Nygma.  He almost wished he could’ve ripped that blanket off himself.  Perhaps a small part of him had hoped that Crane hadn’t actually been wearing anything.  Nygma’s head flashed with images that made him blush even more.  How much he found that he wanted to touch Crane’s pale skin.

Dear god the things he wanted to do to that smug little brat on the floor.  Were Nygma religious he’d be cursing himself for the amount of things he could probably call sin.

“Like I said,” Crane nodded, sitting up, “innocent.”

Nygma smiled slightly and walked over to sit down next to Crane.

Crane had no idea how much Nygma wanted to strip him down and listen to just sounds, moans, sighs, gasps, it didn’t matter, as long as they were pleasure.

He might’ve looked innocent, but his thoughts were far from it.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked.

“You fell in love with me,” Crane replied, “I have habits.”

“Stripping for the express purpose of embarrassing me is a habit?” Nygma asked.

“This is not stripping,” Crane gestured to his bare chest, “I regularly walk around the house shirtless when no else is around.  If I had stripped, I wouldn’t have boxers on, or the blanket.”

“And you had to give me that mental image,” Nygma muttered, turning red and curling his hands into fists to keep himself from grabbing at Crane’s boxers and tearing them off.

“What?” Crane smirked, “You didn’t want to know what I looked like naked?”

Oh he was past wanting to know.

“Jon why are you doing this?”

“Because you just failed the test of how easy you are to torment and also I’ve been taking sips of vodka every half hour, I might be slightly tipsy.”

“Jon!”

“Vodka clears the sinuses my dear.”

“I can’t believe I fell in love with you.”

“You’re not alone on that front.”

Crane flopped on his back.

“I’m so hooooooooooooooot!” he groaned.  Nygma flicked a glance towards Crane that made him smirk.  “You dirty-minded little fucker.”

“And you just called me innocent.”

“Well,” Crane pushed himself up onto his elbows, “evidently I was mistaken.”  Crane sat up and flipped over, placing a hand on either side of Nygma’s hips.  They locked eyes for a brief moment before Crane pressed his lips against Nygma’s.  Though it caught Nygma by surprise, he quickly returned the gesture and snaked a hand around Crane’s waist.  He let out a slight gasp at the smoothness of Crane’s skin, giving Crane an opportunity to steal his tongue between Nygma’s teeth and wind it around Nygma’s.  Crane let out a soft hum and leaned in a little more, discarding the blanket and sitting on Nygma’s lap, one arm draped over Nygma’s shoulder, the other running through Nygma’s hair.  They slowly pulled away, gasping for air.

“That was uncalled for,” Nygma breathed.

“I didn’t see you complain,” Crane grinned.

“Oh so you think I’m complaining?” Nygma smirked, running the hand on Crane’s waist down to the waistband of his boxers and running his fingertips under the edge of the elastic.

“So you aren’t?” Crane smirked and slid closer, “Good because that would be really inconvenient for your friend, wouldn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Crane let out a loud laugh and ran a thumb across Nygma’s lips.

“Just one question,” he smiled softly, “do you mind if I’m rough?”

“Depends on how rough you like it,” Nygma smiled and plunged his hand down Crane’s boxers and wrapped his fingers around Jon’s thigh, “because I play to win, and I refuse to let you stop after one round.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -abject and utter screaming that she ever actually wrote this-
> 
> Like this chapter is great but oh sweet jesus, that ending.
> 
> -The Jashinist


	14. That Simple

Nygma woke up with a loud groan.  He was sore all over, especially his back.  Nygma lifted his head slightly and looked around him.

He was on the floor of Crane’s apartment, naked.

Well this would’ve been a great thing to yell about if he didn’t already known what had happened.  He moved to get up and realized he was being held around the waist by a comatose Crane.  Crane’s head was resting against Nygma’s ribs and a small curve of a smile graced his thin lips.  Nygma felt far too guilty about moving to actually move.  He carefully wrapped an arm around Crane’s shoulders and pulled his body closer.  There was something about how Crane looked when he was asleep, something peaceful, something younger.

Something heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

He barely looked on edge right now; he just looked…happy.

Nygma edged to where he could sit up and looked down at Crane, just to get a better look at him.

It would probably not be the last time he’d see Crane’s face, but dear god he was beautiful.  There was just something about him that Nygma couldn’t get over.  He had the softest hair, and it was such a dark shade of brown someone could easily mistake it for being pitch black.  Nygma blushed as Crane shifted in his sleep slightly, moving a little too close to Nygma’s crotch for comfort.

And of course this moment had to be the exact moment Joker decided to walk into the apartment, staring at his phone.

“Hey Jon I-Oh hey Wikipedia,” Joker smiled, but it was clear he was cursing himself internally, “Why are you….Is that Jon?”

There was a brief silence where Nygma and Joker just stared at each other for a few minutes until Joker’s face broke into a huge grin.

“You two don’t waste time.”

“Oh my god,” Nygma groaned, throwing his head back.  Crane stirred, catching Nygma’s attention.

“Wha’ d’ya wan’ Jack?” Crane muttered cracking open an eye.  The fact that he hadn’t bothered to sit up and was talking with his head against Nygma’s thigh was probably not helping anyone understand him through his accent.

“Harley kicked me out, with help,” Joker replied, “can I stay here for like, a week?”

“Mmhm,” Crane replied, burying his face into Nygma’s thigh, “If you go get me coffee.”

“You want Starbucks?”

“No, Starbucks is for the weak,” Crane replied.  Joker raised an eyebrow but shrugged.

“Well there’s a Wawa that just opened down the street,” he commented.  Crane sat up, looking grumpy and barely awake.

“What the fuck is a Wawa?”

“I dunno but it has coffee and food,” Joker shrugged.

“Coffee,” Crane lay back down, “the biggest cup you can get, and if they have any of those coffee cake things, one of those.”

“Oh my god you actually want breakfast,” Joker smirked.

“Jack I will throw something at you.”

“Like what.”

“Eddie.”

“Can you even lift him?”

Crane snarled loudly, convincing Joker to hurry out the door before things got violent.  When he was gone, Crane snorted loudly.

“I can’t lift you,” he rolled onto his back and began laughing hysterically, “hell I can’t even move right now.”

“You sat up,” Nygma pointed out.

“Hey, that doesn’t count,” Crane argued, “I meant like, standing, doing anything that requires lower body muscles.”  Nygma raised an eyebrow and attempted to stand, but quickly sat back down when a sharp jab of pain ran up his spine.

“See?  You can’t either.”

“I blame you.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

Nygma smiled and leaned back.

“You bit me,” he commented, noticing teeth marks on his left shoulder.  Crane glanced up at the teeth marks and shut his eyes, running his hands through his hair and smiling proudly.  “You BIT me?” Nygma repeated loudly.  Crane smiled wider and nodded slowly, starting to laugh a little.  He opened one eye to look at Nygma.

“You taste nice,” he replied.

“I swear to god Jon,” Nygma sighed.

“You may have noticed that I did not scream, and now, you know why.”

“And now everyone else will know too.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Crane waved his hand dismissively, “you wear suits all the time, to be honest this is the first time I’ve ever seen your shoulders, or your arms.”

“Well at least I don’t get aroused when someone lightly brushes their back tattoo.”

“We’re really gonna go there huh?”

“Yes, we are.”

Crane grinned and leapt up, knocking Nygma to the ground and lying down on top of him, chin resting on his own crossed arms.

“Toddler.”

“Get rekt.”

“Jon you are in your thirties, why are you using modern slang?”

“Get rekt.”

“Stop that.”

“Get rekt.”

Nygma smacked Crane on the side of his head.

“Mature,” Crane mumbled, nodding off on Nygma.

“If you fall asleep, I will risk pain to dump cold water on you.”

“Mm-mm,” Crane wrapped his arms around Nygma’s neck, “don’t move, you’re comfortable.”

Nygma raised an eyebrow at this comment.

“Am I really?”

“Yeah,” Crane shifted slightly, “like a pillow.”

“Are you implying that I’m squishy?”

“You are.”

“Never before have I been so insulted by a twig!”

Nygma faked an insulted face the he could barely hold together as Crane began to laugh hysterically.  Crane pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched, arching his back as he did.  Nygma smiled at the action.

“Are you giving me a show or just trying to stretch out your back?” he asked.

“What you don’t want a show?” Crane smirked and laid a hand on Nygma’s chest, “I thought you enjoyed yourself last night.”

“I did,” Nygma nodded, readjusting the blanket covering them.

“Also, a little late, but my neighbors across the street have a ten year old,” Crane gestured to the windows.

“We just-please tell me the curtains were closed,” Nygma’s eyes widened.

“Psh, you think I own curtains,” Crane laughed.

“Jon that’s not funny!” Nygma raised his voice.

“We might’ve scarred a ten year old!” Crane sang, sounding very close to drunk.  Nygma leaned back and shook his head.

“You horrible human being,” he scolded.

“Get rekt Edward Nygma.”

Crane sat up and stretched his neck to see over the windowsill.

“Don’t stand,” he tapped Nygma’s shoulder, “said ten year old is at the window.”

“I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘don’t flash the ten year old’ Jon,” Nygma adjusted the blanket again.

“I’m not giving you my blanket just so you can go find your pants,” Crane retorted.

“Rude,” Nygma jabbed Crane in the side.  Crane squeaked loudly and shrank in on one side.  Nygma grinned.

“You’re ticklish,” he observed.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Nygma began lightly jabbing Crane, grinning whenever Crane shrank in at that spot, shrieking with laughter.

It was always an amazing thing to watch a person crumble into a child in pure delight; Nygma had to admit it was one of his favorite things to take note of.  Crane didn’t appear to have these moments when Nygma had met him, but these past few months had proven otherwise.  And here was another one.

Crane slapped Nygma’s hand away and pressed his lips against Nygma’s, running his hands through Nygma’s hair.

“This,” Crane gave a strand of Nygma’s hair a sharp tug, “this is my favorite part of you, besides your personality.”

“Someone’s getting overly romantic,” Nygma smirked “think you can guess mine?”  Crane bit his lip and shook his head.

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Riddle me this,” Nygma ruffled Crane’s hair, “Pronounced as one letter, and written with three, two letters there are, and two only in me.  I'm double, I'm single, I'm black, blue, and gray, I'm read from both ends, and the same either way.  What am I?”

Crane processed the riddle in a few moments before grinning wide and leaping forward to hug Nygma.

“Are you serious?” he leaned away and placed his hand on Nygma’s cheek, eyes brimming with tears.

“Oh god don’t cry on me,” Nygma smiled, “you have beautiful eyes Jon, the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh gross,” Joker piped up as he walked in, carrying a light brown bag and a cup of coffee in hands, “I know I’m a guest but could you keep the PDAs to a minimum when I’m here?  I don’t get mushy with Harley when you guys are over.”

“You act like Harley doesn’t try to get mushy,” Crane pointed out.

“Oh I never said _she_ doesn’t try to get mushy,” Joker crossed his arms, “I said _I_ don’t.  That’s very important.”

“Mmhm,” Crane nodded, holding out a hand, “coffee.   Now.”

“Okay,” Joker rolled his eyes, “oh hey Wikipedia, question.”

“What?” Nygma scowled.

“How much do you like crawdads?”

There was a dead silence where Nygma looked between Crane and Joker, looking for an explanation.  It didn’t do much, as Crane looked just as utterly confused.

“Okay,” Joker rolled his eyes, “so some random fucker came up to me at the Iceberg Lounge last night like ‘you wanna buy some crawdads?’ and I was like ‘sure but I don’t have a fridge’ so this fucker goes over to Penguin and offers to pay him to keep the crawdads in _his_ big industrial fridge in the back and I can cook ‘em later.  Well, Penguin agreed but he said I gotta give ‘em to Jon because Jon can cook crawdads like nobody’s business and I can’t cook for shit.  So I pay this guy like, five hundred bucks, which I thought was a ludicrous price until he comes back with these fucking huge bags filled with crawdads and I’m like ‘where did you get these?’ and he just hands them to me and yeah long story short I have three industrial size bags of contraband crawdads and I can’t cook.”

“Jack?” Crane tilted his head to the side, “Why did you pay for the crawdads before seeing how many he had?”

“I-um,” Jack paused, “I’m stupid.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hey!”

“Sweetheart you’ve always been the stupider of the two of us.”

“I’ve never been more insulted in my entire life.”

“Oh bless your sweet little momma-lovin’ heart.”

“Nevermind, that was way more insulting.”

“Can I pause this riveting banter for a second and ask why you two sound like exes?” Nygma asked.

“That might be because we are,” Joker leaned on the counter.

“You never gave me my coffee,” Crane held out his hand.

“You blessed my heart I’m not obligated to give you anything,” Joker retorted.

“I’m sorry how old are you again?” Crane lowered his arm, looking extremely vexed.

“You blessed my heart!”

“Jack I’ve blessed it at least thirty times by now that argument is totally irrelevant I want my coffee.”

“You need to apologize.”

“Jack I swear to god I will punt you out the fucking window, give me the fucking coffee cup.”

“You must apologize to receive your coffee.”

“You need to give me my coffee or you’re gonna be sleeping on the street until you make up with Harley.”

Joker turned to Crane and scowled.

“Come on sweetheart it’s not that hard.”

Joker picked up the coffee cup, walked over, and handed it to Crane.

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

Nygma looked between Crane and Joker and lowered himself back to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

Of course it wasn’t going to be that simple.

“Eddie?”

Of course it wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting the first three chapters on here and then updating both the fanfiction and Ao3 versions simultaneously from now on.


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